


Something to Tell You but It's Crazy

by crazypolka



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mockingbird (Comic), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon? What is this thing you call canon?, Every 'verse is an alternate 'verse, Gen, More tags will come when I figure out what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazypolka/pseuds/crazypolka
Summary: Darcy Lewis is alone in New York City. Her credit card doesn't work. Strangers answer when she tries to call family or friends. Her social media accounts have all disappeared. Even her email doesn’t seem to exist anymore.And then there's the guy she's never met, who insists they've been friends for years.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

Nothing. Not a single phone number reached the person it was supposed to. Strange voices answered familiar numbers, suspicious queries came in answer to her texts. Her social media accounts were just gone. Even her email didn’t seem to exist anymore.

It was as if someone had gone through and erased everything about her, like some old movie about being digitally eliminated.

And everything was just … wrong. New York smelled different, off. There was a strange reddish tint to the light. The voices around her, the accents …

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the taste of the air on her tongue (wrong, wrong!) as she took a slow breath, forcing down a sudden rush of nausea. The air was cold against the back of her throat and inside her nose, with a bite that spoke of suspended ice crystals and overnight snow. The park bench she sat on was also cold, damp soaking into her jeans as she sat there. She couldn’t stay. She had to find somewhere warm to stay for the night.

“Darcy? What are you doing here?”

She jolted, looking to her left so quickly she felt a sharp pain in her neck as she pulled something.

There was a dark figure standing on the path running past her bench, silhouetted against the setting sun. He was impressively fit, with broad shoulders and even more impressive biceps.

She had no idea who he was.

“Darcy? Are you alright?” He stepped closer, crouching down in front of her. A battered yellow dog ran up to sit next to him, panting loudly and suddenly leaning into him. Knocked off balance, he grabbed at the seat of the bench next to her. She instinctively reached for … no, she didn’t have her taser. Not in New York City.

He noticed her movement and leaned away from her. “Whoa, easy there taser-girl! It’s just me.”

He seemed so comfortable with her, and the nickname – but she couldn’t place him. How did he know her? Her thoughts felt stuck, high-centered and spinning in place. Who was this? How did he know her? Who _was_ this?

“Clint? Clint Barton?” he continued, when she didn’t respond. “Your friend, Clint? And Lucky?” The dog perked up on hearing its name, a slight, eager motion.

His words dislodged her thoughts, finally.

“I don’t know who you are.” She was surprised at her own tone, at how belligerent and angry she sounded. “Go away!”

With those last two words something broke loose inside her. She rose to her feet, knocking the stranger back and down so that he sprawled across the increasingly dark path. “Go away!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Go away!”

And she ran, unthinking, away from the stranger, the light, the smells, the sounds, from everything that was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time her second step hit the ground a simple desire to get away had morphed into panic. Pure adrenaline raced through her body. Desperate to get away, everything narrowed down to a frantic need to hide. Already she imagined she could feel a hand grasping at her. A sensation of ice started at her middle and speared through her. She gasped and sped up, hands fisted as she lunged for safety.

It was the change from concrete to grass that tripped her. She landed on her front, one fist between her body and the ground, firmly planted in her solar plexus. Terror was washed away by her body’s sudden inability to breathe.

The stranger caught up to her and knelt down beside her. Then, somehow, she was leaning back against him, cradled against his chest as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms and whispered soothing words into her ear.

It took forever, it seemed, to regain the ability to breathe, long agonizing moments of paralysis. When it was over, she was too worn out to panic again, but sat there in his arms, appreciating the warmth of his body and the comfort of being cared for.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded, then sighed and relaxed further into him.

He rubbed his hands along her arms a few more times, finally speaking hesitantly. “I’m sorry if I scared you. You just look so much like my friend, Darcy Lewis. You could be twins.”

She shook her head, unsure what to do next. 

“That’s my name,” she told him. “I’m Darcy Lewis.”

He stilled, then leaned forward and around to see her face. “Darcy? Jane’s Darcy?”

“Jane?” She shrugged a little, trying to think of any Janes she knew. “Jane who? What’s her last name?”

An odd expression passed across his face. “Foster. Jane Foster. Thor’s girlfriend. The scientist. Darcy Lewis – my Darcy Lewis – is her assistant.”  
“Nope.” She was sure she didn’t know any Fosters. “I’m a political lobbyist, anyway. The only science I know anything about is political science.”

“Oh, yeah? What school did you go to?”

“Culver. They have a good program there.”

They were both silent then, sitting in the increasing dark. She realized the dog was lying next to them as it shifted and groaned slightly.

“So, you seemed really upset there, on the bench. You might not be my Darcy, but are you OK?”

She thought for a moment. She didn’t know this guy. But he had been kind to her. _And bad guys are incapable of faking kindness, right?_ she sarcastically reminded herself. But it was cold, and she didn’t know where to go or what to do. And she was so tired.

So she told him. About her contact not showing up for their meeting. About the local politician’s office not having any record of an appointment with her. About the hotel losing her reservation, and her credit card getting rejected. About walking aimlessly until her feet and legs were aching, and she’d found herself in this park, where there was a place to sit and try to think what to do next.

She didn’t tell him about her online life disappearing. She didn’t tell him about not being able to contact her family or friends. She didn’t tell him about her employer saying they had no employee named Darcy Lewis.

She lied and told him her family were waiting to hear from her, instead.

He didn’t ask why one of them didn’t just pay for her hotel room with their credit card.

She pretended not to notice. Denial was an effective strategy, right?

“I’ve got a friend who’s got an extra room at her place,” he offered instead.

A woman? Not offering a place to stay with him, but with another woman? Maybe her situation was improving. She made a questioning, “Mmm?”

“Her name’s Bobbi. You’d like her. Doesn’t put up with anything, especially from me.”

Darcy grinned at that. “Obviously a woman of intelligence,” she told him seriously.

He laughed, then stood up, giving her a hand when he was back on his feet. “Look, there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Let me buy you something. I’ll call Bobbi and we’ll see what she says.”


	3. Chapter 3

Clint wound up texting Bobbi, muttering about her never answering her phone as he did. Then he’d led her to the brightly lit coffee shop, where he obviously knew the tall, dark-skinned woman at the counter. She rolled her eyes when she saw Lucky, but ostentatiously squinted her eyes shut as Clint “sneaked” him in. The dog lay down behind Clint’s chair, closing its eyes and relaxing into apparent sleep.

He made a point then of bringing her up to the front with him, introducing her and sharing her story. “So she needs something warm and something filling, Zohan, maybe a bowl of your Ezogelin soup?” He turned to Darcy. “They make the best in the city. You’ll love it!”

“You pick up strays like a delivery driver picks up packages,” Zohan told him. “Anything for you while she’s having soup?”

Darcy appreciated the way he’d handled it, letting her know that someone had noticed them together, and would know enough to remember her if she turned up on the news.

The soup was almost as good as Clint had promised, and the coffee was even better. Between the food and the caffeine she found herself perking up considerably, and falling into a comfortable conversation.

Clint, once Darcy got a good look at him in the light, was intimidatingly fit. His shoulders were as broad as they’d seemed in the park, but she’d completely failed to appreciate the definition of his arms. His blond hair was adorably messy, and desperately needed a cut. He’d obviously broken his nose more than once, and the overall impression she got was of a jack in the box – impossible to keep down.

It turned out he’d grown up in the Midwest, too, but was working in security now. It hadn’t been what he’d planned, he told her, but he’d been recruited by a prestigious company. The offer had been impressive enough that he’d suddenly found his life taking an unexpected direction.

He raised his coffee cup to his mouth, grinning at her. “You’ve probably had your own experiences with unexpected directions, though.”

She shook her head. “Actually, no. Today is about as unexpected as my life ever gets. I’m pretty boring. Went to college knowing what I wanted to do, graduated on time, got a job at a non-profit, and now I’m working my way up in my career.”

He pointed his finger at her. “No, you handled today well, considering everything you were dealing with. You’ve had your plans fall apart on you before.”

Darcy snorted. “I don’t think I handled it well at all. Screeching and running away is not my preferred style of handling stress, believe me.”

“That’s an entirely reasonable reaction to a strange guy claiming to know you, after this kind of day. If my friend Nat had a day like yours, she would have probably stabbed me. And my friend who is also named Darcy would have tased me.” He shook his head when Darcy laughed. “You think I’m joking.”

“I would have tased you,” she admitted, “but illegal here! It’s at home.”

“That brings up something I was wondering about,” he said then, losing the cheerful grin and looking more serious. “What happened to your luggage? Is it at the hotel still? Do you need to pick it up?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “You mean I didn’t tell you about that, too? Stolen. I was heading out to catch a taxi when I got really dizzy and sick. By the time I’d recovered, everything I hadn’t been holding onto was gone.”

He made a disgusted noise. “That’s terrible.”

She’d finished her soup and split a pastry with Clint by the time Bobbi arrived. Clint’s friend turned out to be a statuesque blonde who made Darcy think of a Greek goddess. She moved with an assurance that was almost arrogance, every motion a statement of grace and power.

Bobby sank onto the seat next to Darcy, smirking across the table at Clint. “What’s the rescue tally now?” 

“This doesn’t count,” Clint protested. “It’s rescuing someone else.”

Bobbi was just as sculpted as Clint, Darcy realized, and they both shared a subtle attention to the world around them that she recognized.

_They’re both combat veterans._ She’d seen that slight wariness before - in one of her coworkers, in an uncle, and a couple of college friends. Clint had his back to the wall, sitting at an angle that let him see everything in the room, but would let him get out quickly if he needed to move. Bobbi’s seat wasn’t as well placed, but Darcy could practically feel the way the other woman tracked movements around her through sound, as well as paying attention to Clint. It was obvious she trusted the man to watch her back. _They must have served together._

For some reason she felt safe with them. It was entirely the opposite of everything common sense and experience advised, but she couldn’t bring herself to worry about it. Something about Clint, and now Bobbi, made her feel warm and relaxed. That distressing feeling of _wrongness_ had finally disappeared and she felt actually safe in their company.

“Darcy?”

She jumped, looking up to see Clint and Bobbi both looking at her.

“Sorry. I was drifting.”

Bobbi grinned at her. “When is your flight home?”

“The day after tomorrow. I’m sure I can figure something out for tomorrow night, though, I –“

Bobbi shook her head, making a dismissive motion with her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to have you. I’m off for the rest of the week, so I’ll even be able to help you get things sorted out and entertain you in between calls to the credit card company. But you’re obviously exhausted. Let’s get you home before you crash.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bobbi led the way out, with Clint and Lucky trailing the two women. Zohan very deliberately turned her back to them as they walked past her counter with Lucky, flapping her hand over her shoulder as Clint called out, “Thank you!”

“My car’s over here,” Bobbi said, gesturing to the right. “Be a gentleman for once, Clint, and open the door for Darcy, would you?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m always a gentleman, Bobbi!”

Bobbi stopped to dig in her pocket as Clint guided Darcy to the older four door near the corner. There was the beep of a remote and the click of a disengaging lock, then Bobbi came up behind them as Clint placed his hand on Darcy’s back to guide her off the curb.

Then Bobbi was crowding too close to Darcy. Before she could step away there was a sharp pain in the side of her neck and she flinched, her hand flying up to knock away whatever bug had just bitten her. And then everything went woozy, and she stumbled, her legs losing their strength.

“Hey, there!” Clint exclaimed, his strong arms catching her and pulling her close to him. “Watch your step!”

Darcy could feel him taking her weight as she sagged against his side. Bobbi said something, but Darcy couldn’t make it out, and then she was just… so… tired …

\------------------------------------------

She didn’t want to wake up. Her pillow was soooo sooooft. She rubbed her cheek against it and let herself sink back down.

There was a noise, a beeping sound, pulling her away from sleep again. Irritating. What was that? She wanted to make it stop, but soft. PIllow. She pressed her face deeper into her pillow and tried to relax again. But the stupid beeping wouldn’t stop.

She opened her eyes and looked at metal bars in front of her nose.

She jerked back in surprise, and oh! Pain! Her whole head pounded. She realized it had been there all along, but in the background. Moving had brought it to her attention with a vicious twist. She closed her eyes and tried, very hard, not to move again.

After a while the pain started to subside, or maybe she was just getting used to it, and she sat up very carefully. Something stopped her arm, though, when she pulled on it, and she looked over to see what was wrong.

She was in a hospital bed, and her left hand was handcuffed to the siderail.

Well, she was an idiot. 

She would panic – obviously she should never have trusted Clint or Bobbi, and now she was going to die – but panicking would solve nothing. She had to stay calm so that she could analyze the situation and figure out the best way to escape.

She had read once that the best time to get away from a kidnapper was immediately, while you were still at your physical peak before imprisonment and mistreatment _(not thinking torture, nope, nope, nope)_ made it more difficult to do what you needed to. Bide your time, wait for the right moment, and run.

Of course, there was also the advantage of using a reverse Stockholm Syndrome kind of thing – she’d read about that once, too – but the odds of winning her captors over seemed slim when they were obviously hardened serial KILLERS!

No! Panic was bad! She took a moment to slow her breathing again. _Breathe in, and count, and out, and count…_

Next time she had to come to New York she was smuggling her taser on the plane somehow, and if anyone she didn’t know tried to talk to her she’d tase them until they forgot their own names, much less their nefarious plans!

\------------------------------------------

A while (hours? It felt like hours) later she still didn’t know what the beeping was, no-one had entered the room, and her bladder was screaming at her non-stop. If she didn’t get a chance to use the bathroom soon she wasn’t going to be answerable for the consequences.

She was also bored. Turned out boredom trumped blind terror. Who knew?

The room she was in had no windows, nothing hanging on the light tan walls, and very little in the way of furniture. Very little as in, there was only the hospital bed she was currently sitting on. The light came from overhead ceiling panels. There was a door, closed and almost certainly locked. No bathroom (sadly). Industrial carpet in a not-quite-maroon covered the floor.

It was kind of like someone had dragged a hospital bed into an empty office.

She was able to get off the bed, with some awkwardness. The handcuffs didn’t give her a whole lot of room to move. She could move the bed – it had wheels – although it was heavy and took a certain amount of muscle. 

Getting back on the bed and standing on it wasn’t helpful either. The handcuffs forced her to stand hunched over as she reached as high as she could with her free hand toward a light panel, ignoring the pain in her wrist as she strained upward. She fell short by quite a bit.

Not that she knew what she would have done if she had been able to reach it. Break the plastic panel covering it and hold off her kidnappers with an improvised weapon? There was a reason she carried a taser, not a knife.

Of course, it would be better than nothing. She eyed the bed rails. How were they fastened to the bed, anyway?

She was crouched down, one arm stretched awkwardly above her, trying to peer at the underside of the bed when she heard the doorknob rattle.

Her instinct was to freeze, then to huddle down as if she could somehow hide behind the bed. Before she could get past that, the door exploded open, startling her into freezing in place again. 

“Darcy!” The old man who burst into the room looked frantic, relaxing abruptly when his eyes fell on her cowering behind the bed. There was a blur, and then he was standing in front of her, kneeling down to look into her eyes. 

After a moment he smiled.

“They’re idiots,” he said. “You’re no Skrull.”


End file.
